Report of 13 Oct 2010
This is why we only bite off what we can chew.
Our surgery professor in school, Dr. Carlos Pestana, used to handle a manageable load of topics in our course, and always finished them. This philosophy guides why I work part-time; work and home and marriage and extended family do take up a lot of time and resources, and I cannot do justice to all of them if I work full-time.
The Banyan has been rife with leptospirosis. I have talked to our able store (provisions) supervisor, Balan, and he told me rats and mice are very difficult to eradicate as the building is very old. Balan is a wonderful person - capable, unflappable, our best intentions at heart. He said he did find a rat's nest, and there were 5 babies in it, and he did not have the heart to kill them. But we HAVE to do something about the rodent menace, as it is affecting many of our patients and I need fewer hassles rather than more, in the quest to provide care to the marginalised.
We have rescued a patient from the streets, and her leg wounds are healing. They had been full of maggots, and the surgeons managed to save her limbs in spite of this. Her spirit is good, and she speaks of some relative or the other doing black magic and jeopardising her health. She also speaks some English, telling me to sit down as I stand during rounds, and telling me to eat, at lunch time. I am always moved - MOVED - by such consideration, especially from those who have been abandoned and brutalised and should really lose all faith in humanity.
One of our health care workers (hcw's), Ms. U, had her braces removed and her teeth are straighter. As I complimented her on them, I noticed that her glee was less than full. As she left the sick room, the hcw in charge of the sick room told me that both Ms. U's older sister and brother had died; her sister had committed suicide and less than a month later, her brother had died of a brain bleed. I was stricken, and called Ms. U back; I mentioned how sorry I was, held her hand, and then her shaking shoulder as she wept, and wept. Losing a sibling is always an unexpected jolt in one's world, and losing two - ohhh, I can not imagine. So, we commiserated on our older brothers' passing, and I told her that she and I must now take care of the widows and nieces and nephews, and we grieved together.
My father was in town last week and we managed to see him for a couple of hours. That was nice. He is learning to reconnect with his children - this always having been my mother's territory - and converses on topics other than plastic surgery. I am glad he feels free enough to come to my home, though his colleague had told him that he could not go to his daughter's house; in traditional Tamilian culture, you only go to a married daughter's house if invited (as she is now considered part of another family), whereas your son's house is your territory. We are far from traditional, so my father came to our house and we received him happily.
Sundaram Medical Foundation's annual conference was this past weekend and I was there with bells on. It is annually an excellent show and the opportunity to learn is so welcome. The bane of many an Indian event is lack of punctuality, and SMF has this down to a science: they start on time and buzz their speakers if they run over their allotted 20 minutes. Very lovely; so learning proceeds at a swift, engaging clip. Dr. Arjun, the director of SMF, and Dr. Suresh, organising secretary, are good people and it was nice to talk to them; they render yeoman service to the B. The evening event featured a speaker on mental health, and Scott and I went and had a good time, finishing the evening with a lovely dinner.
The boys are well, and we will have both with us this weekend for some rare family time before I leave. We will see a Tamil movie, I think, and play a board game, and eat some dreadful pudding which I make with regularity, and which all (except I) inhale. Simple joys, but all part of being a wife and mother.
Unw -
R
Our surgery professor in school, Dr. Carlos Pestana, used to handle a manageable load of topics in our course, and always finished them. This philosophy guides why I work part-time; work and home and marriage and extended family do take up a lot of time and resources, and I cannot do justice to all of them if I work full-time.
The Banyan has been rife with leptospirosis. I have talked to our able store (provisions) supervisor, Balan, and he told me rats and mice are very difficult to eradicate as the building is very old. Balan is a wonderful person - capable, unflappable, our best intentions at heart. He said he did find a rat's nest, and there were 5 babies in it, and he did not have the heart to kill them. But we HAVE to do something about the rodent menace, as it is affecting many of our patients and I need fewer hassles rather than more, in the quest to provide care to the marginalised.
We have rescued a patient from the streets, and her leg wounds are healing. They had been full of maggots, and the surgeons managed to save her limbs in spite of this. Her spirit is good, and she speaks of some relative or the other doing black magic and jeopardising her health. She also speaks some English, telling me to sit down as I stand during rounds, and telling me to eat, at lunch time. I am always moved - MOVED - by such consideration, especially from those who have been abandoned and brutalised and should really lose all faith in humanity.
One of our health care workers (hcw's), Ms. U, had her braces removed and her teeth are straighter. As I complimented her on them, I noticed that her glee was less than full. As she left the sick room, the hcw in charge of the sick room told me that both Ms. U's older sister and brother had died; her sister had committed suicide and less than a month later, her brother had died of a brain bleed. I was stricken, and called Ms. U back; I mentioned how sorry I was, held her hand, and then her shaking shoulder as she wept, and wept. Losing a sibling is always an unexpected jolt in one's world, and losing two - ohhh, I can not imagine. So, we commiserated on our older brothers' passing, and I told her that she and I must now take care of the widows and nieces and nephews, and we grieved together.
My father was in town last week and we managed to see him for a couple of hours. That was nice. He is learning to reconnect with his children - this always having been my mother's territory - and converses on topics other than plastic surgery. I am glad he feels free enough to come to my home, though his colleague had told him that he could not go to his daughter's house; in traditional Tamilian culture, you only go to a married daughter's house if invited (as she is now considered part of another family), whereas your son's house is your territory. We are far from traditional, so my father came to our house and we received him happily.
Sundaram Medical Foundation's annual conference was this past weekend and I was there with bells on. It is annually an excellent show and the opportunity to learn is so welcome. The bane of many an Indian event is lack of punctuality, and SMF has this down to a science: they start on time and buzz their speakers if they run over their allotted 20 minutes. Very lovely; so learning proceeds at a swift, engaging clip. Dr. Arjun, the director of SMF, and Dr. Suresh, organising secretary, are good people and it was nice to talk to them; they render yeoman service to the B. The evening event featured a speaker on mental health, and Scott and I went and had a good time, finishing the evening with a lovely dinner.
The boys are well, and we will have both with us this weekend for some rare family time before I leave. We will see a Tamil movie, I think, and play a board game, and eat some dreadful pudding which I make with regularity, and which all (except I) inhale. Simple joys, but all part of being a wife and mother.
Unw -
R
posted by Renu Weiss at
11:15 PM
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